I made a mistake on Friday… having taken the decision two months ago to change my hair colour from red-ish to blonde-ish (I fancied yet another change), I went to the hairdressers on Friday to go even blonder. You see, going lighter takes some time, especially as my hair’s been all sorts of colours over the past few years and blonde needs a bit of time to really take hold. Apparently.
But my hair sucked up all that bleach and now I have very blonde hair, whatever ‘very blonde’ means. And it’s dry as a bone. And it feels like straw. And I HATE it.
Every time I glance in the mirror, rage races through my blood, and I’ve spent the weekend with it tied up so I don’t have to see it scratching at my face or get my hand stuck in it when I attempt to move it from my eyes. It’s horrid.
Apart from it looking and feeling as thirsty as a desert – oh, how I miss the shine – I really don’t think I suit being a blonde. It’s just not me.
So, after wailing to my lovely hairdresser down the phone (she must think I’m bonkers) I return to the there at the end of the week to go dark brown. Dark, dark brown. For me, brunette is best, it’s what I’m comfortable with, it’s who I am. And I’m hoping the shine and gloss I once had will come back too.
Fingers crossed it’s not too windy this week, I’m fearful of my hair snapping off at the roots in a big gust of the stuff. Reminds me of when I was about 12 and the hairdresser suggested I cropped my long hair. I had no idea that cropping meant CUTTING MY HAIR SHORT!!!! otherwise I’d never have agreed. What resulted was a lot of tears, a refusal to go to school until it had grown back and a lesson to always talk the same language as my hairdresser.
To be fair, this time my hairdresser (not the evil woman who scarred my childhood) did what I asked and did it well. I have the blonde hair I asked for. What I didn’t realise was that with a bleached bonce comes knots, brittle locks and a fond longing to be a brunette again as quickly as possible. Roll on Friday!
Have you ever had any hair disasters?